


The Lover's Melancholy

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Author's Favorite, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two lonely souls seek comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lover's Melancholy

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this fanwork is taken from Shakespear's "As You Like It."

He was beautiful. In a dark, exotic sort of way. He certainly wasn’t the kind of elf that turned my head, not with dark distant eyes, coal hair, and a frail-seeming body hidden under earth-toned robes.

Still, I felt… drawn to him. Not sexually. Not romantically. Not at first.

And I can’t to this day say what it was in his melancholic spirit that called to me. I consciously sought neither friendship nor even a distant companionship, not from this eccentric pedant. But still, I sought him out.

What else was I to do on these long summer days? I was an escort, not a diplomat. I had no duties and no responsibilities; I should have been happy. I spent what time I could in the libraries, but even a new archive of books could not contain my spirit for long and I soon took to the open forests, with meadows and continuously singing brooks scattered throughout the realm.

But I had seen him, on that first night at the feast, and after that every night at the dinner table. We’d barely spoken two words to each other in the month I’d been there, but I had to admit that it had been a long time since I’d been so enchanted, so taken.

I think it was his mystery. I had always been open with my fellows, easy going. Most elves are. But not Erestor. He was closed to the rest of the world. His every whim was dictated by his Lord, whether Elrond knew it or not. Erestor seemed to have no care for anyone else, even himself, and I wondered at his transparency.

For it was obvious to me that he was very much in love with the Lord of Imladris.

And though this was clear to me, it seemed everyone else was blissfully unaware. After my weeks of silent observation, I even wondered if Erestor knew it himself.

And every night I could see him from my window, a silent shadow wandering the long stretches of garden where roses and irises bloomed beside clover and daisies. He moved, a bright shadow in the moonlight, slow and purposeless before meandering his way back to the Last Homely House.

So, many weeks I watched and waited and bided my time, until curiosity finally got the better of me, and one night I found myself wandering in those gardens, waiting to meet up with the one who haunted its arbors and orchards with the tenacity of any ghost who has gone too long without rest.

I did not wait long.

But I could see it was not rest he sought in his wistful melancholia. Perhaps he sought strength. Perhaps he sought wisdom.

Perhaps he sought comfort. Perhaps I could give it to him. For he was beautiful to me then, as a broken-winged bird struggling for life is beautiful, as a moth crushed under the hooves of a wild mount is beautiful. He was glorious to me, this scarred soul. Like a dying star.

We exchanged greetings in the night. And I suddenly felt as I had a millennia ago, caught lurking about the Lady’s mirror. I felt a trespasser.

But he seemed not offended, and asked me to walk with him in the night. This I had longed for, and so I agreed, not completely hiding my shock at the offer.

Together, we strolled through the gardens. And I imagine he wondered at me, much as I wondered at him. “Oft I have seen you roam the gardens here.”

“Aye. Tis a ritual I have grown fond of over the years.”

“I see how that can be. Your Lord’s gardens are fairer than most, and made more beautiful for their untamed wildness.”

A chuckle escaped him, and I marveled at the deep sound; it was free, but somehow despondent. “The Lord Elrond prefers the natural state of things. He hates order, though you won’t hear him say it.”

“I can appreciate such sentiment, for I find this place to be both wild and disciplined, full of the love of elves and the unrestrained aesthetics of nature. Especially in the night.”

“Then you know now why I roam here.”

“I suppose I do.”

***

In those times before I truly knew him, I thought we were as alike as winter is to summer. But that night we parted with friendly words, and met again the next. And so it continued. More often than not, I joined Erestor in his previously solitary walks, and he seemed not unhappy to have me there.

I learned that we were more alike than I could have guessed. It was an amazing thing to me that a refined scholar and thoughtful counselor such as himself and an unremarkable march warden like me could find anything about which to speak amiably together, let alone to confide in each other, as we began to nightly do.

And I could not deny that our unseeming likeness made his unobtrusive presence a balm to me. We spoke of family, and learned that we had much in common. We spoke of weapons and wars, and learned that he was not only a mere scholar. We spoke of legend and lore, and learned that I was not so uneducated as I thought.

But always in our wanderings, it still seemed he searched for something, some intangible need that he knew would never be found in a garden, despite his constant pursuit of it.

I guessed his need and I purposed to myself that I could assuage his unfulfilled desires. Aye, and that he could do the same for me, for I thought on him often as he sat in those meetings, as I lay alone in my bed, as we walked together in the night. I thought on him as a beautiful elf who would be gentle and loving and a comfort to me. I knew I could be the same for him. If he would only let me.

***

The meetings were progressing well he told me, and I mourned that our time together would soon draw to a close. He sensed my own melancholy, but not its cause, and questioned me.

“Friend Haldir, I have known you but a short time, but always you have seemed light of heart. May I ask what so bothers you, for you are clearly troubled?”

I smiled. “Your concern is kind, Erestor. I do but bemoan the time when we shall have to part company, for there is little in this place that pleases me but for your steadfast friendship and this garden.”

He nodded, and smiled at me in his turn. “I see, and am honored that you think so highly of me. But there is more here in Imladris than a weary counselor and one wild garden.”

“Aye, there is much more. But none of it is half so beautiful.” My smile was mischievous.

He did not answer, and I believe he wondered if I spoke of him or of the garden. We walked in quiet company some moments before he found his flustered tongue. His words, when they came, were quiet and almost tremulous. “I shall grieve your loss as well, for I find I have grown… overfond of you.”

I halted, rather stunned at his confession.

He, too, held his steps and turned with no small amount of fear in dark eyes. “I meant no offense…”

“You offend me not. For I feel the same,” I said simply. “But in truth, I am astonished that you would look to me when your heart so clearly lies elsewhere.”

“You say you know my heart?” he questioned warily.

“Aye, you wear your love for your Lord like a badge of tainted honor.”

He turned from me then, inky tresses falling to hide his face. “And you perceive this shame so easily?”

“It is no shame to love.”

“It is to me. But none has ever called me on it. None but you.” When he lifted his face to me, I saw unchecked tears gathering in his eyes, though I also saw he was determined not to let them fall. “Was I so obvious?”

“Yes, to me you were. But I think I know the reason.”  
 “Pray tell me, relieve my doubts.” It was wrong to hear so proud a creature plea thusly, especially since he had no need to; I had every intent of sharing my own proud secrets with him.

“I have seen your love for Elrond since the very day I met you, but I never thought you the baser for it. Your love is pure to my eyes, despite the ignorance all your friends and companions ascribe to. But I think the reason I saw it so clearly is because I, too, know the pain of loving one’s lord.” Now the time came to it, I nearly regretted the confession I had never uttered to another living being. But in Erestor’s eyes I saw new hope and relief, and something I never realized I longed for until he showed it to me: understanding.

The sudden silence between us was tangible, for he looked to me in awe but did not speak.

So I did, keeping my voice to a whisper. “I have loved my Lord Celeborn for a very long time now. He is…” I smiled and shut my eyes.

“He is everything to you. Your reason.”

“Aye,” I muttered. “My reason to live.”

“Then you know,” Erestor murmured with wondering need, and as I felt him approach, I opened my eyes.

“I know,” I agreed. “I know the intense mingling of duty and devotion, of love and allegiance. I know the passion with which we carry out every order, the torment we suffer with every rebuke. And the misery of a lust unfulfilled and a love unreturned.”

Erestor turned from me then… and laughed.

“What fools are we!” he cried, clutching at his head with one hand and his stomach with the other, weak in his hilarity. “Fools!” he shouted into the night.

I saw the humor, and his desperate laughter was infectious. I found myself joining him even as I begged him to hush lest he wake the whole house.

“Let them hear!” he proclaimed, but this exclamation was belied by his quieted voice.

I laughed, and threw an arm about his shoulders, drawing him close for the first time. We hung on to each other in weary mirth and rambled further from the house. “Fools, aye,” I amiably consented. “Fools for love.”

“For a boundless love!” cried he.   
“For a hopeless, boundless love!” I howled.

He nodded his head and clutched tight to me. Amazed at the supple body under my hands, the vibrancy of his emotion, and those sorrowful laughing eyes, I felt bespelled as we drifted into the thick forest bordering the gardens.

It wasn’t until we reached an open clearing that I realized he was leading me. And I was content to be led.

Our sorrowful humor had quieted, and I took the chance to look about me. It was an unexceptional sort of place, just an opening in the trees with dull grasses and wildflowers growing high and the stars shining down through the circle in the trees. But it was calm and naturally wild and not altogether unlovely. The only remarkable thing was a large boulder set at the center of this clearing. It looked neither natural nor out of place and as we drew close I could see how wonderful a reclining sort of seat it would make, and Erestor proved my thoughts as he sat on the worn surface, pulling me alongside him.

I happily adhered myself to his side, reveling in the feel of his understated strength and his natural warmth. Or perhaps it was a warmth built between the both of us. It had been too long since I’d known the warmth of a lover, the compassion of a friend.

It was surprisingly comfortable for a rock, and I said as much.

He snuck an arm around my shoulders to cradle my head as we lay side by side on the reclining stone, stargazing. “It has been here for as long as I can remember, and I come often to read.”

“You and no other?”

He shrugged. “I have staked no claim, but the others here have come to think of it as ‘Erestor’s place’ and have no wish to disturb my repose by encroaching onto it.”

“Then we shall not be discovered,” I said with delight, turning on my side to face him.

His arm followed my movements, pulling me closer. His rare smile dazzled me. “How right you are.”

“Then you would not be offended should I ask for a kiss?”

“You would be content with a mere kiss?” he queried with mock disappointment.

“Content?” I pretended to muse. “Perhaps not. But it would be an excellent start.”

“Then take your kiss,” he instructed, already guiding my head down to nervously moistened lips.

This I did eagerly, starting off slow, wary of frightening or overwhelming him. But he seemed more than ready for whatever passion I chose to unleash. And once I overcame the common fears of first-time lovers, then… oh the feel of him! Warm and hard against my hand, wet and soft beneath my mouth. This elf – who always appeared so remote in the halls, reserved at the table, indifferent among his friends – proved to be filled with a near overwhelming exuberance. Yes, full of life as he tangled a scribe’s hand in my hair, pulling me close and practically devouring me with passion-filled kisses.

We smiled, finally pulling back, our breath mingling sweetly as it came in heavy puffs and pants.

“Then we shall lay together, my friend?” he asked.

“And take comfort together, friend,” I approved.

“And love together.” He kissed me.

“For a short time.” I kissed him back.

Then, we hauled ourselves to our feet, pulling at strings and ties and buttons and belts. I loved the feel of his smooth skin, the look of it. He was a living statue in the night, smooth as marble but flowing like water. “Marble and water,” I breathed into his ear, not resenting his height as he bent to torture my neck with tender kisses and bites and licks.

Nor did I resent that I was the first to call out in the weakness of passion, for I did not see it as a weakness but as a gift and reveled in it, moaning as I pulled him tight.

“Marble and water?” he laughed, teasing my ear with his breath. “If I am such, than you are nothing less than honey.”

“Honey?” I chortled, the sound becoming a whine as he finished the task of disrobing to slide naked against my already bared body.

He gasped at the sensation, and then withdrew, throwing our clothes in a muddled heap onto the rock, making just about the loveliest little nest I’d ever seen. I grinned and tossed him onto the soft bed, pinning him there with my considerable weight and again demanding with a laugh, “Honey?”

“Aye,” he said, kissing me quick, and pulling back to card affectionately through my hair and to look on me with desire and with a soft love. “Honey over steel.”

We giggled at our words, despite the truth we each saw in them. And then we dismissed words altogether, glorying in the pleasure we made together. I lay atop him and we moved in rhythm, setting a slow tempo to moan and writhe at, thrusting as our arousal rubbed together, caught between our bellies. The maddening pace was a sweet torture, almost painful in its slow-moving ecstasy.

I loved it.

He clutched at me, gripping my shoulders and then my hips with surprising force. But I seized him with equal fervor, and I found our resistance weakening. Our cries grew frantic, our breathing labored, our movements uncontrolled, and we lost ourselves to the frenzy of it.

Feeling the rush of pleasure, the tightening coil, the urgent need, I know I cried out in a wordless scream and released myself to the rapture.

So in tune were we that I felt him stiffen within the same heartbeat, clawing at my shoulders and thrusting wantonly and crying in harsh gasps; those tears that had earlier threatened now fell in streams of unleashed pain.

And I was neither surprised nor offended when he called out a name that was not mine. After all, I could never lay with another and not think of my own lord, my love.

Almost sobbing at the intensity, he held me close with unspoken desperation, and I returned the favor, content to lie as long as he wished in a sticky embrace, planting soothing kisses in his hair, which had become a riotous snare of tangles in my passion.

Suddenly, he whimpered beneath me, as if in pain. I swiftly moved to the side, but cradled him close.

“I did not mean to call out – I…”

“Oh,” I sighed in a small smile, hoping to still his fears in the calm brush of my hands along his back and through his knotted hair. “Fear not, Erestor, dear Erestor… you and I are too close to weep over such silliness. We know our hearts, and I do not condemn your love, nor do you mine. We are free with each other, yes?”

“But I should not have—”

“And why not?” I quieted him with a kiss. “You love him. And we are together, yes. In comfort.”

“Not in love?”

His question saddened me. “In a melancholy love,” I whispered across his brow.

“I am glad you do not resent me,” he spoke now more firmly and returned my soft caresses.

“Never,” I agreed. “I resent only that we have but few days left to our friendship.”

Erestor suddenly smiled and looked up to me. “Then, the next time there is a feast of note in Lorien, I shall endeavor to be there.”

I laughed with him and answered in kind, “And whenever some defenseless diplomats require escort to the fair Imladris, you can be sure I will be at their head.”

“Then our companionship is not nearing its end,” he said to soothe me, for I needed it.

“Nay indeed.”

“And you shall return to your Lord.”

I grinned despite myself. “I look forward to it,” I said, and he heard the eagerness in my voice.

Smiling, he leaned in for a kiss. “You are strong, Haldir,” he marveled. “Stronger than myself, I think. But, if you ever…”

“Yes,” I agreed, returning the kiss. “And if you ever.”

He chuckled and nodded his dark head.

***

That was not the last I saw of Erestor, but after those few days, we never did have occasion to again take comfort together.

But that is all right. Whenever the chance arises, we meet, and when those chances come, we wander the lonely gardens of the world together. We speak of many things, of family and war and legends, and we laugh together. We whisper together of love, and we sit together in silent understanding. And sometimes, under the light of the moon, we meet in a kiss: marble and water, honey over steel.

= = = = =

The End

 

I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is   
emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical,  
 nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the   
soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's,   
which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor  
 the lover's, which is all these: but it is a  
 melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples,  
 extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's  
 contemplation of my travels, in which my often  
 rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

-Jaques, “As You Like It,” IV,i


End file.
